Fate, Foes, and Forty Two Reasons Why I Can't Stand You
by DarkDragonRyder
Summary: The moment that I looked at Tony Perry, I knew I couldn't stand him. It was hate at first sight. I have never liked him, and I never will. *PTV fanfiction ft. OC/Tony Perry*


The moment I laid eyes on Tony Perry, I hated him. But not just a this-TV-show-sucks-I-hate-it hate, it was an if-you-were-'accidentally'-pushed-into-a-pit-of-vipers-and-fangirls-I-won't-cry type of hate.

I hate his hair. I hated his gauges. I hate his snapbacks. I hate how he flicks my nose whenever he wants to piss me off. I hate that he makes fun of my drawings. I hate that he constantly pulls my ponytail out. I hate how he's slowly taking Vic and Jaime and Mike away from me. I hate how they think he's 'sweet'. I hate every single aspect about him.

And I know he hates me just as much.

It all started on a Sunday afternoon. The worst things happen on a Sunday. Know why? Because that's the day when everything goes wrong and your entire weekend is ruined.

The movers came and swarmed the only house like little ants. The truck wasn't big, but the movers were. A fat guy came carrying a couch out of the van and through the front door. I watched from the window, my little thirteen year old self entertained and wondering how the man could fit through the door. The couch? No problem. The man getting through was my only concern. Would I have to get butter and squeeze him out? Hopefully not…

Although the movers were entertaining, I was interested in the family. My mom and dad said there was a kid that was my age. Considering that our street was lacking on the whole 'friend' department and was desolate in the twelve year old kid range, I would take anyone to hang out with.

I didn't realize it at the moment, but I should've been more careful with what I wish for.

"Darling, would you like to come practice the piano now? I'm done playing the trombone." My dad offered. His hand fell lightly on my thin shoulder. I turned around to face him, smiling broadly and shaking my head. My father clutched a gleaming trombone in his hands. He loved that thing like it was another child. I think he even named it, but I'm not too sure. He only refers to the instrument as 'her'. Don't even get me started on it.

"There are people across the street! Mom said they have a boy my age!" I clapped. My dad squeezed my shoulder before going into the kitchen, tossing a comment over his shoulder as he left. "Go be neighborly and see if he wants to hang out!"

"Did the neighbors come?" My mom asked. I bounced over to her. She wore he classic chartreuse apron. My mom was obsessed with the color. Between the green and the trombone-related objects in the house, I lived with odd parents, but I loved them nonetheless.

"Yeah, they did! Should I go say hi?" I asked her. My mom nodded and pulled something out of the oven.

"Wait until they're all settled in. I'm going over later to deliver cookies and maybe you could go with me." She warned. I sighed and nodded, only to go back to my window to spy on the progress. I was surprised to see that the mover had made it through the door without any butter or lubricant.

The hours passed slowly. Once the truck drove away, disappearing into nothingness around the turn off our street, I went bouncing back to my mother.

"Now?"

"What?"

"Now, can I go outside and see if he's out there?"

"The boy?"

"Now?" I asked, too excited to process the information running through my head. My mom smiled wearily and nodded.

"Just don't pester them too much!" She clucked as I skipped out the door. As soon as I stepped foot on our porch, I just stared at the house thirty feet away. Our cul-de-sac circle was the only thing that separated us. The house seemed quiet, too quiet for new residents.

My shyness started to spill out of every pore in my body. The bounciness had quickly dissipated. I sat down on the steps and stared at the house for a while, waiting for movement from within the belly of the beast. I was bored and wanting company, but shy and afraid to ask. What if the boy was shy too? Would he be nice? Would he be a jerk? I knew I would find out eventually, but I could at least put it off until my mom went over to deliver cookies.

My gaze went from the blue-grey boards of the house to my cement driveway. I huddled against my much too large sweatshirt and pulled at my ponytail in silence.

A door closed across the street. I resisted looking up, but my stomach got all twisted in knots of excitement. Was he just going to check the mailbox or coming over to see me? Wait, no, no, they wouldn't have mail right now…but he might be seeing me!

I looked up as the boy approached me. He would be barely two or three inches taller than I was. He had hard chocolate eyes built up like a wall. I saw through his cracks, though. He was kind of nervous, the way he shoved his hands deep into his jean pockets. The way he walked just told me he was kind of scared, kind of cautious. As soon as his eyes met mine, he read me, too. We were open books in a library.

There was a pause, a hesitation in the boy's step. He knew I could see through his wall that he had so carefully built up in his eyes. His lips tilted down in a slight frown. He came up, standing in front of me. I looked up at him from my porch steps.

I knew I would hate this kid. There's just something about him.

"Hi." I started slowly.

"My mother made me come over and say hi." He responded. I resisted from just turning around and walking inside. This was obviously his way of saying 'I dislike the fact I have to socialize but I'm doing this because my mom is watching from the window so let's get it over with quickly'.

"Oh." I responded with disappointment.

"My name is Tony Perry."

"Syn Parks." I responded, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. From the moment we realized that we were open books to each other, I knew I would hate him. The way he acted, so fake and guarded, just made me dislike him all the more.

"Is Syn your real name?" He asked curiously, kind of with disgust tinting his voice.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"It's a weird name." His nose wrinkled in annoyance, as if the very sound of my identity made him want to retch. There was more awkward silence. I had a feeling he was just going to turn around and leave in a second.

"Tony is a weird name."

"At least I don't wear homeless shirts." He looked down at my sweatshirt that was too large, hadn't been washed in at least a week, and looked like it belonged to Goodwill.

"At least I'm not some jerk who thinks he can do what he wants." I spat back, standing up to go back in the house. I put my hands on my hips, blushing slightly. I just wanted to escape this sweatshirt. I didn't want his disapproval. I didn't want him around. He's an ass. I wish he hadn't moved across the street from us.

"Those are terrible orange streaks in your hair. Where'd you get those done, the Salvation Army?" He taunted. I turned around, wrinkling up my nose and my brow furrowing as glared at him. He finally smiled. There was something in his eyes that showed approval, maybe? What a sicko.

"It's natural. Leave me alone." I growled, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice. I turned around, walking as calmly as I could towards my door.

"Hey!" He called. I turned around, tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

"Take the ponytail out and maybe you'll look decent for once!" He called before scampering down my driveway. He passed the trees, ducking under branches as he cut to his house. I fled into my own abode and ran to my room.

What a jerk. I can't believe I'm going to be stuck with him for countless more days. Maybe a meteor will come crashing through his house and they'll have to move again. I hope so.

I hopped up to my mirror and looked into it. Throwing off my sweatshirt, I wrapped my arms around myself, tears spilling from my eyes. I had on a black shirt underneath, covering my arms that were pale white. I'm such a freak. Tony had a point. I hated him, but he kind of had a point.

I pulled my ponytail out, letting the blonde and natural orange streaks mix freely. I ran a brush through my hair, my hand trembling as I pulled it through the knots and tangles. I disliked the feelings it gave me. My hair was so thick that it knotted up easily and I had to have it in a ponytail to keep it from getting into a big rats nest most of the time. It felt uncomfortable like this, but maybe I did look a little decent with it down.

"Sweetie, do you want to deliver cookies over to the neighbors?" My mom knocked on the door.

"Um, no thanks! I'm fine. I have some stuff to do." I answered, hiding my sniffles into my sleeve.

"Well…okay." My mom said warily before walking away. I went over, flopping down on my bed and reciting all the reasons why I hated Tony Perry, even though I've known him for a total of two minutes. His snapback, his smirk like that of one who revels in pain, and his attitude were the first reasons why I disliked him so much.

God, I hated that kid.

 **And when the Tuba section blew up, I knew the world was ending.**


End file.
